Inspiration in the everyday.

The Summer of the Snipe

“Nope. You’ve got to spread it around by yourself. The Snipe will be able to tell if someone helped you. Then it won’t be as scared of you, and it might come after you.” Ralph held his small, calloused hands in front of him, palms-out, to reinforce his honesty. Nate sighed, looking at the pile of manure staring him down from in the field.
Ralph pointed, “See, it’s steaming. That means it’s fresh. That’s the best kind, because the flies haven’t got to it yet.”
Dusk was falling upon them quickly, and the stars made glittery, uneven flecks on its darkening canvas. It was warm, and the boys stood barefoot in the pasture. Mosquitoes were beginning their nightly feast, and the boys slapped at the stings on their necks, ears, and calves. Their blood was smeared on the palms of their hands.
Nate scratched his forehead and crossed his arms in front of his chest, thinking, “How did I get into this mess?”

“Well, the snipes don’t come out until after it gets dark, I told you. And, you better not go back to the city and tell anyone the secrets to finding them, hear me? You’re lucky I’m letting you in on the secrets.” Ralph said this with the same sincerity one might use after revealing a family secret to someone. Nate made the motion of crossing his chest, with his fork, a green bean stuck in its tines. “And you’re the one who has to catch the Snipe – I caught mine earlier this year, and you’re only allowed to get one a year.” Nate looked around the table, wide-eyed. Each family member nodded their head, answering his unspoken question – that, yes, each of them had caught their Snipe for the year. Nate sat among the family of, obviously, expert hunters, his mouth agape. “What do I need to know to catch one?”
“First thing anyone who can catch a Snipe knows is that there’s one particular sound they like.” Ralph stopped, waiting for Nate to take the bait. Nate’s head bobbed up and down, his neck a spring. “You have to take a pot,” Ralph turned around to the stove, pointing, “like that one over there. A metal one. You have to take it out into the woods with you, and you bang on it with a wooden spoon.”
Nate scrunched his eyebrows, the faithful attention melting away. “They like that sound? Won’t it scare them away?”
“That’s what everyone thinks who’s never caught one.” Ralph used his fork to point at Nate. “That’s why they can’t catch ‘em. They’re not smart enough to listen to the people who know what they’re doing. But the truth is, the louder you bang that pot, the faster the Snipes’ll come out.”
Nate looked up at the corner of the ceiling and sighed. “Well, what do they look like?”
Nellie, Ralph’s mother, joined the game. “Oh, they’re just the ugliest things you’d ever imagine!”
Howard, Ralph’s father, and Louise, Ralph’s little sister, turned to look at Nellie, as they tried to hide their smiles. Louise covered her mouth with her napkin.
“They have red eyes. That’s usually the first thing you see,” Ralph added.
“No, I can always spot that tail first, then the eyes,” Howard added. “Just don’t let their size fool ya.”
Ralph pointed to little Louise. “She even caught one this year, and she’s a girl!”
Louise nodded slowly, her eyes wide open, trying to keep the muscles in her mouth from breaking out into laughter.
“Is it safe?” Nate asked.
“Yeah, so long as you rub cow manure in your hair,” Ralph nodded. They hate the smell of cow manure.”
The group turned to Ralph, who’d raised the stakes.
“I’m not gonn-“ Nate began to protest.
Howard jumped in. “Well, that’s only something the expert hunters do. You don’t have to do it, and people have caught Snipes without dying before, without the cow manure . . .” Ernie saved the ball, just as it was going out of bounds. Everyone lobbed a look of thanks to him.
Nate thought about the circumstances: banging on pots, rubbing manure in his hair – the possibility of death.
Ralph offered another juicy detail. “Sure would be neat if you could go back to school on Monday, telling everyone how you caught a Snipe this weekend. Only other kid in the class besides me who’s done it is Matthew…” Ralph said the name in a sing-song voice, “Math-ew,” cocking his head to the side, looking out the right corner of his eyes, as if to insinuate the level of bravery that could be reached if his attempt proved successful.
Nate thought, rolling the fork around in his fingers, grinning. Nate was aware of the honor bestowed upon those who had caught a Snipe. It seemed to be on everyone’s mind at school recently – who had or hadn’t caught one. It seemed a lot of kids had been Snipe hunting that summer. Dropping his fork to the plate, Nate said, “I’ll do it!”

Nate swatted at a mosquito buzzing in his ear.
“Are you gonna chicken out?” Ralph rolled his eyes, and put his hands on his hips, faking boredom.
“No! Just give me a sec. This is gross!” Nate stared at the mushy pile at his feet for another moment. He sat the metal pot on the ground, and the wooden spoon clonked inside it. Crouching, the foot-long oval of manure at his feet, Nate reached forward, then stopped. Nate looked up to Ralph, silhouetted in the silvery moonlight, hand outstretched. “Are you sure this is really what I need to do? Maybe the Snipes around here aren’t as mean.”
Ralph blew a burst of air from his mouth, shaking his head. “Well, you can take your chances. I’d sure hate to have to tell your mom why you’re in the hosp-“
Nate’s hand disappeared into the pile, up to his wrist. The blackish-brown of the manure made his skin glow whiter. Nate’s face contorted into a look of pain laced with horror. Nate grunted an aaaah! as his balled fist emerged from the pile and landed on the top of his head.
Ralph faked a coughing fit to hide his laughter. The manure sat on the top of Nate’s head, the way cranberry sauce does when it comes out of the can. Coughing, Ralph advised Nate to smash it down a little, so it wouldn’t fall off when he walked.